


the summer season

by tritonreverse



Series: you know what that is? growth [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, The Mets, all that good stuff and some cuteness too, baseball as the american backdrop, discussions of the implications of syndergaard's nickname
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tritonreverse/pseuds/tritonreverse
Summary: Where better to draw people in crisis than a Mets game in August?





	the summer season

It wasn’t that MJ disliked sports. For the most part, she could just let them be, with occasional excursions into watching men’s gymnastics or women’s diving or the WNBA. None of that explained what she was doing sitting here in the fading sunlight, feeling the sweat trickle down her back as she tried to figure out if the team on the field was actually trying. She adjusted the sketchpad on her lap, attempting to ignore how much her legs were sticking to the plastic seat. 

She wasn’t even sure why she was here. Peter had found out that she’d never been to a Mets game despite living in Queens for a good part of her life, and had shown up to their acadec study hangout three days later with two of what he described as “the cheap but good seats.” She’d poked at him about “wait, why can’t you just use a Stark luxury box?” but the guarded look in his eyes forced her into the retraction she’d had to use a lot of recently. 

The Stark internship was a touchy subject. Now that she knew he was Spider-man  _ (but he didn’t know she knew, or at least, she thought he didn’t know she knew and she wasn’t about to change that) _ , she suspected the internship was 80% him Spider-manning around and 20% taking things apart and talking entirely too quickly while being encouraged a dangerous amount by another person with more brains than sense, and more money than either. She’d tried dropping hints that she knew what he was up to, but for someone as quick to notice things as Peter usually was, he was stubbornly obstinate about this. 

Well, actually, she knew exactly why she was here. Peter had been so excited about taking her to the game, baiting her with “well, you know, the Mets are in third and pretty far back so it’s going to be a mix of overly hopeful faithful and fans who are deeply sarcastic and hopeless so you should have lots of inspiration” and she couldn’t let on how deeply endearing that was. It was true, too. Just on the ride to the stadium she’d filled three pages with quick studies, from the kid with the tiny floral print logo hat to the guy who was clearly already drunk at 4:30 in the afternoon. She’d been distracted, though, by the energy radiating off of Peter, his leg gently bouncing against hers as they stood squished together, surrounded by fans on the 7. 

It made it harder for her to do what she’d been trying to do for weeks, reconcile that goofy, open face with the superhero who took down muggers and attempted rapists  _ (his latest escapade she’d only heard about through her volunteer work at the shelter, that he’d shown up to help get a woman and her child away from an abusive husband, done something it was hard to get the cops to do) _ . But here he was, just as excited as the kid in the seat across from her, about a team with a losing record. 

The worst part was the MJ couldn’t tell if this was a date. Nothing Peter had said leaned that way, but...here they were, without Ned.  _ (Ned, who was on vacation in California) _ Here they were, with tickets Peter had insisted on buying himself  _ (he was well aware of how MJ felt about Tony Stark) _ . So maybe this was a date, or maybe it was a friend thing or maybe both of them were just confused teenagers and she needed to do what whenlifegivesyoulymons on Tumblr advised and just relax. 

With a start, MJ realized she’d spent the last half inning basically staring at Peter, lost in thought. She winced and hurriedly turned to see if there was anything, anyone worth using as a diversion, especially since the game had been seemingly out of the Mets’ reach since the beginning.

“Hey,” she said, elbowing Peter and pointing down the row at a small child holding a decidedly overloaded soft-serve cone. “Do you think that kid actually eats all that ice cream, and if they do, do they throw a tantrum in the 6th or 8th?” 

He laughed, following her finger. “They eat almost all of it, hand the rest to mom, and fall asleep in the 7th.” 

They spent the rest of the game like that, making what ended up being a fairly miserable game for the Mets enjoyable by alternating people-watching with MJ letting Peter talk her ear off about his Mets fandom, something inherited from his Uncle Ben, and guarded almost like a physical possession. In return, Peter listened to MJ’s thesis on athletes identifying with superheros - even if some of those superheros were now politically incorrect  _ (though no one really knew where Thor stood in the Accords, so Noah Syndergaard wandering around calling himself that wasn’t as much of a deal as the falling-apart of the David Wright ‘Cap’ nickname and there was a problem here, a problem in the idolizing of both superheros and athletes, something that often allowed both to get away with things they shouldn’t. See: famous athletes and DV; superheros and, well, she didn’t want to actually go there with Peter but...) _ and what that meant in culture. 

The Mets ended up losing, and -

“...ugh, to the  _ Padres! _ They’re so bad! Like, deliberately bad!” Peter griped as they fought their way through the crowds exiting the park. It was a solid eleven-walk to the station, and MJ mentally allocated that amount of time for him to complain about the outcome of the game before she changed the subject. “What on earth is a Ryan Schimpf? Who knows?” 

They finally reached the station, and MJ used her best  _ don’t even dare _ glare to grab an overhead strap, eyeing a what looked like a drunk finance bro into moving further into the car. She pretended not to notice that Peter didn’t actually need to hold onto the pole for balance as the train lurched into life, and they spent the eight-minute ride back to where they had to grab a bus rolling their eyes at each other over the  **very** loud and  **very** not-convincing argument said tech bro seemed to be having with anyone over why the Mets should  **definitely** re-sign Neil Walker for 2017.

The bus ride back was calmer, the rowdier fans continuing on in towards Manhattan, and MJ pulled her sketchbook back out, alternating schooling Peter on the best parts of  _ Parks and Rec _ with drawing loose little cartoons of the acadec team. It wasn’t until they were getting off the bus that she remembered that they’d have to make the walk back, in the dark. 

MJ hadn’t quite gotten over her new tentativeness around being out so late at night, a kind of tenseness in her stomach, and though she hated feeling safer with Peter around, it didn’t hurt, knowing that the dude next to her could stop cars  _ (and to be clear, she wasn’t mad at Peter. She was mad at the whole damn society, the fact that a woman, and especially a young woman of color, couldn’t walk safely around her neighborhood at night) _ . She was warily eyeing every alleyway they passed, and completely missed something Peter said, so focused that she didn’t even realize she’d zoned out until he poked her arm and she jumped about ten feet in the air. 

“Ohmygosh,” he said, pulling back to put space between them. “I’m so sorry, I just...you didn’t respond when I asked you about what you thought of the Accords overall since we were talking about that stuff earlier and. . .?” He trailed off, looking uncertain. MJ winced, wishing she could just tell him that she knew he’d been there and he didn’t have to stand there looking quite so kicked-puppy as he tried to pretend he didn’t know why she was jumpy. 

“I’m fine,” she said, brusquely. Her internal monologue continued that sentence  _ and even if I weren’t I wouldn’t tell you, Mr. Peter Parker. I know well enough how to get along on my own and you can’t fix everything, even with your stupid spider webs _ . To his...credit? Peter didn’t seem to believe her, but also didn’t seem inclined to press her, simply falling back in stride and trying to pick up the thread of the conversation where he’d left it, which seemed to be that “well, I mean, I get that we can’t just have everyone running around calling themselves a superhero? But there’s gotta be some leeway, I mean, because I mean, right now most of the ones I’ve heard of...”  _ and that was sweet, I’ve heard of, not I’ve met _ “...don’t quite have the same, I don’t know, biases as police - I mean I’m sure they have biases, I mean, Daredevil seems pretty biased against like, not beating guys up, but-” he broke off suddenly, tensing enough that MJ felt it from inches away. 

The silence hung in between them, and MJ felt her breath quickening. It had been no more than 20 seconds - 20 seconds that felt like a lifetime - before Peter turned around towards the alley on their left, putting himself between her and whatever was in there. 

“Hey, MJ?” he said softly. 

“Yes, Parker?”

“I need to tell you something.” 

MJ felt the laughter bubble up against whatever this situation was that they found themselves in and die, but some minute amount of it showed in her voice as she answered. 

“That you’re Spider-Man? Oh, Peter, you nerd.” 

Just like the night outside the college, his shoulders showed his surprise.  _ He was going to have to work on that if he didn’t want it to show to every single member of their class at school. _ He sputtered a little.

“But? What? Wait? You - never mind,” and now she heard it too, a rustle from the darkness. Logically, MJ knew that there were many things that could rustle in the darkness of a Queens alleyway that were relatively harmless, your stray dogs and large rats and displaced persons just looking for a peaceful place to stay. Whatever this was, though, was freaking Parker out, and as such, freaking her out. 

They probably would have stood there like idiots, Peter clearly trying to make up his mind as to whether to flee or fight, MJ wondering how long the stream on her pepper spray was, but for that the rustle got closer. She was just about to turn and sprint down the sidewalk, thankful she’d worn the Nikes and not her sandals, when a large orange tabby strolled out of the alleyway, purring loudly enough to be heard where they stood. 

MJ sighed.

“That’s what you were scared of, Parker? A bodega cat out for a stroll?” 

Peter just stared at the cat, clearly still on edge. It was just a cat, though, and MJ knew he wasn’t afraid of them - having seen him spoil Delmar’s resident beast half to pieces. He looked so concerned that she took a second look at the cat, now sitting in front of them, fastidiously cleaning its face. It still looked like any bodega cat seen across the five boroughs, and she thought briefly about kneeling down and seeing if she could get it to come to her. Finally, Peter shook himself and side-eyed the cat while turning to face her.

“I don’t know, I just... _ shit _ is there any way you can forget what I - what you -  _ you know. _ ” He pulled at his hair, looking more flustered than she’d seen him in a while, more flustered than he’d been since he got himself back onto the acadec team and then promptly re-flaked.

MJ poked him in the shoulder. 

“No, I will not. You are -” she lowered her voice “- Spider-Man, and while I’m not going to tell anyone, who would I tell, I’m not just going to  _ forget it _ . Who do you think I am?” 

She turned and started walking back towards her building, orange cat forgotten. Peter scrambled to catch up with her. 

“Okay, well, sure...okay.” He sounded more like he was answering questions in his head than anything else, and then his face brightened in the yellow-orange of the street lights. 

“Wait, is that why you were asking me about the Accords, and about Thor, and about silk?” The annoyance with him that had been building in her chest melted away at the way he asked this.

“Yes, dude. For the second-smartest person in our grade you are so oblivious sometimes.”

He grinned, reading through her insult, and then bumped her shoulder with his.

“I should have known that you’d figure it out. You’re MJ, you miss nothing.” 

She turned her face away, muttered something along the lines of “flattery will get you nowhere, Parker,” and saw that the orange cat was still behind them. She made a gentle shooing motion towards it, trying to convey  _ my mother will  _ **_never_ ** _ let you inside, kitty _ . She could have sworn she saw its body language immediately change from hopeful to sulking, and it turned off into another alley. 

Before she knew it, they were back on the familiar steps of her building. She knew Peter was probably going to disappear up the fire escape the second she was inside, swinging his way across the skyline back to his own building. Before she let herself think about it too hard, she opened her mouth. 

“Hey, so...my room has a window on that side, fourth floor,” she said, “and like, this is definitely not an invitation and you do one creepy thing and I’m shoving you out that window, but...if you ever need somewhere to crash, I mean, I follow the news so I know what happens sometimes...” 

The grin on Peter’s face could have powered Madison Square Garden.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll...” she was rolling her eyes before he even finished “...swing by.” 

He backed down off the steps, trying to look as cool as possible, and MJ had to stifle her laugher in her hand as he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

Later that night, as she was flipping through her journal to start picking out which sketches to turn into real pieces, she found a postcard with a minimalist rendering of the Citi Field architecture between two pages, and  _ you’re a real Queens native now  _ scrawled on the back. If she stuck it on her desk cork board, where she could see it every day, who was to say. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, yes, the cameo from everyone’s favorite homicidal feline-presenting alien. What else could set the Spidey-sense off while appearing so innocuous? Don’t answer that. 
> 
> Extra points if you know where the title is from.


End file.
